"A file? What are you talking about, Julian? What file could be worth your life?"

Sienna knelt in the glass shards of their living room, ignoring the sting in her knees. She grabbed Julian by his shoulders, shaking him. He looked like a shell of the brother she used to idolize.

The blood from his nose had stained his white designer shirt, a pathetic contrast to the arrogance he usually wore like armor.

"The Moretti acquisition papers," Julian wheezed, his eyes darting to the hallway as if the ghost was still there. "It's not just business, Sienna. It's evidence.

It's the proof that our father didn't just cause that accident. He planned it. And Dante has the original documents.

If that man, the one who just got out gets his hands on them, he's going to use them to bury us all. Not just Dante. Us."

Sienna felt the world tilt. Her father, the man who had tucked her in and called her his princess, was a murderer? She wanted to scream that Julian was lying, but the terror in his voice was too real.

"Who was he, Julian? The man who was here?"

"Silas," Julian whispered. "He was the driver. He took the fall for Dad fifteen years ago. He wants his payout, or he wants blood.

He told me if I didn't get him that file from Dante's penthouse by tonight, he'd send a copy of the secondary ledger to the FBI. We'll lose everything, Sienna. The house, the name, our freedom."

The weight of it crashed down on her. She had to go back to the lion's den, but not just to save Julian from a lawsuit. She had to become a thief.

"I have to go," Sienna said, standing up. Her legs were trembling. "Dante's car is downstairs. He gave me three hours."

"Sienna, wait!" Julian grabbed her hand, his fingers sticky with blood. "He's taking you to the Starlight Gala tonight, isn't he? Every big name in the city will be there. Use that.

Find his keys. Find the safe. If you don't, we're dead."

Sienna pulled her hand away, a flash of pure loathing for her brother crossing her face.

"You're asking me to betray the only man who is actually telling me the truth, even if that truth is ugly. I'm doing this for Dad. Not for you."

She packed her things in a blur. She felt like a ghost walking through her own apartment. By the time she got back down to the black sedan, the driver didn't even look at her. He just held the door open.

When she arrived back at the penthouse, the atmosphere had shifted. Dante wasn't there, but a team of stylists was waiting in the foyer.

They moved like silent machines, whisking her away to a dressing room she hadn't Forseen before.

two hours, they poked and prodded. They painted her face into a mask of cold, high-society perfection.

They dressed her in a gown of midnight blue silk that clung to every curve, with a slit that went all the way up her thigh.

It was a dress meant to be noticed. It was a dress meant to say: I belong to the man on whose arm I'm standing.

Dante entered the room just as the stylists were finishing. He was in a black tuxedo that made him look like a lethal weapon.

He stood in the doorway, his eyes traveling slowly from her heels to her throat, where a diamond necklace sparked like ice.

"Leave us," he commanded.

The stylists vanished. Dante walked toward her, the heavy click of his dress shoes the only sound. He stopped behind her, looking at her reflection in the mirror.

He placed his hands on her bare shoulders. His skin was hot against her cold flesh.

"You look like a Blackwood tonight," he murmured. "High. Mighty. Untouchable."

"Is that why you're taking me?" she asked, her voice steady despite the chaos in her mind. "To show the world you've finally tamed the princess?"

"I'm taking you because I want everyone to see what I've won," he said. He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of her ear.

"And because I want to see how you handle the whispers. Tonight, they won't see a business rival. They'll see my mistress."

Mistress. The word stung, but Sienna didn't flinch. She had a job to do.

The gala was a blur of flashing lights and expensive champagne. The moment they stepped out of the limousine, the cameras went wild. Sienna kept her head high, her hand resting on Dante's forearm.

She could feel the stares of the women and the judgmental glares of the men who used to call her father a friend.

They walked into the ballroom, and the music seemed to dip for a second. The scandal was already spreading.

"Stay close," Dante whispered, his grip on her waist tightening. "And don't speak to anyone unless I'm standing there."

For an hour, she played the part. She smiled when she had to and stood silently while Dante spoke to investors. But her eyes were constantly searching.

She looked for a key, a thumbprint scanner, anything that might lead her to the file Julian described.

Then, she saw him.

Across the room, standing near the balcony, was a man with a jagged scar running down his neck. He wasn't wearing a tuxedo.

He was in a cheap suit that didn't fit, and he was staring straight at her.

Silas.

Her heart skipped a beat. He raised a glass to her, a mocking salute.

"I need to go to the powder room," Sienna whispered to Dante.

Dante followed her gaze. His eyes narrowed as he spotted Silas. The tension in his body became a living thing.

"Five minutes, Sienna. If you aren't back, I'm coming in to get you."

She didn't wait. She wove through the crowd, her heart hammering against her ribs. She didn't go to the powder room.

She doubled back through a service hallway, hoping to find a quiet place to breathe, to think.

But she wasn't alone.

A hand gripped her arm and pulled her into a darkened alcove behind a velvet curtain. She started to scream, but a rough palm slammed over her mouth.

"Easy, princess," Silas hissed. His breath smelled like stale tobacco. "I told your brother the deal. Do you have it?"

Sienna struggled, her muffled cries dying against his hand.

"Dante has it on him," Silas whispered, his face inches from hers. "He keeps a small drive in his inner jacket pocket.

Get it tonight. When he's distracted. When he's... busy with you. If I don't have it by 2 AM, I go to the feds."

He released her, disappearing back into the shadows of the service hallway before she could even catch her breath.

Sienna stood there, shaking. She had to steal from Dante while he was touching her. The thought made her feel physically ill.

She smoothed her dress and walked back into the ballroom. Dante was waiting by the door, his face a mask of fury. He grabbed her arm, his fingers digging into her skin.

"What did he say to you?" Dante demanded.

"Nothing. He just... he just looked at me," she lied.

"Don't lie to me, Sienna. I saw you disappear." He pulled her toward a private exit. "We're leaving. Now."

The ride back to the penthouse was silent and suffocating. Dante was radiating a dark, violent energy.

The moment the elevator doors opened into his home, he threw his jacket onto the sofa and turned on her.

"You think you can play both sides?" he roared. "You think I don't know that Silas went to see Julian today? I have eyes everywhere, Sienna. Did he tell you to kill me? Or just rob me?"

"He told me the truth!" she shouted back, her voice cracking. "He told me my father killed your father! Why didn't you just tell me? Why play these games?"

Dante stepped into her space, his chest heaving. "Because I wanted you to find out when it was too late to turn back! I wanted you to realize that your whole life is built on a lie!"

He grabbed her, pulling her flush against him. The anger between them was so thick it felt like electricity.

"Night Two hasn't even started," he rasped, his eyes searching hers. "And you're already trying to betray me. Do you know what I do to traitors, Sienna?"

"I don't care," she whispered, though her heart was racing for a different reason. The drive was in his jacket. On the sofa. Just ten feet away.

"You will care," he promised.

He picked her up, ignoring her half-hearted protests, and carried her toward the bedroom.

He slammed the door shut with his foot and pressed her against it. His hands were everywhere, frantic and possessive.

"I should throw you out," he muttered against her lips. "I should let Silas have you. But I can't. I can't let anyone else touch what's mine."

He began to kiss her, a punishing, desperate thing that left her breathless. Sienna felt the conflict tearing her apart. She needed to get to that jacket.

She needed to save her family. But as Dante's hands found the zipper of her dress, her body betrayed her again. The heat he sparked in her was more addictive than any drug.

She reached out, her fingers fumbling with his shirt, trying to get him to lose his focus.

"Dante," she moaned, her head falling back.

He lifted her, her legs locking around his waist. He walked them toward the bed, but as he passed the sofa, Sienna reached out a hand, her fingers brushing the fabric of his discarded tuxedo jacket.

Just an inch. She just needed an inch.

Her fingertips touched the cold metal of a USB drive in the pocket.

"What are you doing?" Dante whispered, his voice suddenly sharp.

He stopped moving. He looked from her face to her arm, which was stretched out behind him.

Before she could pull back, he dropped her onto the sofa. He reached into his own pocket and pulled out the drive she had been reaching for.

He held it up between them, a dark, mocking glint in his eyes.

"Looking for this?"

Sienna froze. "I... I can explain."

"There's nothing to explain." Dante snapped the drive in half with one hand, the plastic crunching in the quiet room.

"That was a decoy, Sienna. I knew Silas would talk to you. I wanted to see if you'd choose me, or the man who helped murder my father."

He stood over her, his silhouette blocking out the light. He looked like the monster she had always feared, but there was a deep, raw hurt in his eyes that he couldn't hide.

"You failed the test," he said, his voice a low, terrifying growl. "And now, Night Two is going to be very, very different."

He reached for a silk tie on the side table, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Tonight, we don't play. Tonight, you learn what happens when you try to steal from the devil."

The phone on the table rang. It was her father's private line. The one he only used for emergencies.

Dante looked at the phone, then at Sienna.

"Pick it up," he commanded. "Let's see what else your family has to lose tonight."

The ringing of the phone was like a siren in the small, charged space between them.

It was a sharp, digital scream that cut through the thick tension of the room. Sienna stared at the screen.

Dad Calling.

Her heart did a slow, painful roll in her chest. Her father never called this late. Never.

Dante stood over her, his shadow stretching long and jagged across the sofa. He didn't move. He didn't blink.

He just watched her with those cold, predatory eyes, waiting to see if she would break.

"Pick it up," Dante said again. His voice was like a low vibration in the floorboards.

Sienna reached out, her fingers trembling so violently she almost dropped the device. she swiped the screen and pressed it to her ear.

"Dad?"

"Sienna? Are you there?" Her father's voice sounded thin. Brittle. Like dry leaves being crushed under a boot. "I... I saw the news.

The photos of you and Moretti at that gala. Tell me it isn't true. Tell me you aren't with him."

Sienna looked up at Dante. He was leaning down now, his face inches from hers, listening to every word. A cruel, triumphant light flickered in his gaze.

"I'm working, Dad," she lied, her voice cracking. "It's a project. A merger. I'm fine."

"He's a monster, Sienna! He's trying to kill us!" Her father started coughing, a deep, wet sound that made Sienna's stomach turn.

"Don't let him near you. He'll use you to get to me. He wants to destroy everything I built."

"I know, Dad. I know. Please, just go to sleep. We'll talk in the morning."

She hung up before he could say anything else. She couldn't handle the sound of his weakness anymore. Not when the man who was actually holding her life in his hands was staring her down.

Dante reached out and took the phone from her, tossing it onto the cushions. "He sounds pathetic. Is that the man you're trying to save? A murderer who hides behind his daughter's skirts?"

"He's my father!" Sienna shouted, standing up and pushing against Dante's chest. "Whatever he did, he did it for us! You don't know what it's like to want to protect your family!"

Dante's hand shot out, grabbing her wrist and twisting it just enough to make her gasp. He pulled her flush against him, his body hard as granite.

"I know exactly what it's like," he hissed. "I've spent fifteen years protecting the memory of a man who was erased because your father wanted a bigger paycheck.

Don't talk to me about protection."

He dragged her toward the bedroom. Sienna stumbled, the high slit of her gown fluttering against her legs. She tried to fight, but the physical difference between them was too great.

He was a force of nature, and she was just a girl caught in the storm.

Inside the bedroom, the only light came from the moon reflecting off the river outside. Dante pushed her toward the center of the room.

"You tried to rob me tonight," he said, his voice dropping to that dangerous, velvet growl. "You chose the man who blackmailed you over the man who gave you a deal.

That deserves a very specific kind of punishment."

He picked up the red silk tie from the dresser.

"Night Two was supposed to be about conversation. About understanding. But you've proven that you can't be trusted with your eyes open."

Sienna backed away until her heels hit the edge of the bed. "Dante, don't. Please. I'm sorry. I was just scared."

"You should be scared," he agreed.

He moved toward her. He didn't rush. He didn't have to. He took the tie and stepped behind her.

Sienna felt the heat of him against her back, the scent of his expensive cologne mixing with the smell of the rain still clinging to his hair.

He wrapped the silk over her eyes, pulling it tight.

The world vanished.

"No," she whispered, her hands reaching out into the darkness. "Dante, I don't like this."

"You don't have to like it. You just have to endure it."

His voice was right behind her ear. She felt his hands on the zipper of her dress. The sound of it sliding down was deafening in the silence.

The cool air of the room hit her skin, and she shivered. The dress fell away, pooling at her feet like a discarded skin.

"Rule Number One," Dante murmured. She could feel his breath on her neck. "Since you like to look for things that don't belong to you, you don't get to see anything at all tonight.

You're going to stay in the dark. You're going to listen to me, and you're going to feel me. That's it."

He guided her onto the bed. Without her sight, the texture of the silk sheets felt different. Rougher. Thicker. She felt exposed, a raw nerve in the center of the vast, dark room.

"Dante? Where are you?"

"I'm right here."

She felt a weight on the bed beside her. Then, a touch. It started at her ankle, a slow, deliberate line drawn by a single finger up her calf, over her knee, and stopping at the inside of her thigh.

Sienna's breath hitched. Without her eyes, every nerve ending in her body felt like it was on fire.

"You think your father is a good man," Dante said. She felt him lean over her, his voice coming from somewhere above her chest.

"But did he tell you about the second ledger? The one Julian is so desperate to find?"

"What about it?" she managed to ask. Her voice sounded small, even to her own ears.

"It's not just about the accident, Sienna. It's about the bribes. The shortcuts. The construction sites that collapsed because your father used substandard steel to save a few million.

People died long before my father ever got behind the wheel of that car."

The finger moved higher, tracing the lace of her underwear. Sienna wanted to close her legs, to hide, but she was frozen.

"Is that true?"

"I don't lie, Sienna. That's the difference between me and the men in your life."

He replaced his hand with his lips. He kissed the sensitive skin of her stomach, his stubble grazing her. Sienna felt a sob catch in her throat. The conflict was tearing her apart.

She hated him for what he was saying, for what he was doing, but her body was responding to him with a betrayal so deep it made her want to scream.

She reached out, her hands finding his shoulders. He was solid. Real. The only thing she could feel in the void.

"Why are you telling me this?" she whispered.

"Because I want you to know exactly whose debt you're paying," he rasped.

He moved his mouth back to hers, but it wasn't a kiss. It was an interrogation. He tasted like whiskey and bitterness, but as she opened to him, the flavor changed. It became something primal. Something obsessive.

The night stretched out into an endless cycle of darkness and sensation. Dante was a phantom in the room, appearing and disappearing, his touch the only thing that kept her grounded.

He pushed her to the edge of her endurance, testing her, making her beg for the blindfold to be removed, but he never gave in.

"Not yet," he would whisper whenever she pleaded. "You haven't surrendered yet. You're still fighting. You're still thinking about that file."

"I don't care about the file!" she cried out, her voice breaking. "I just want to see you! Please, Dante!"

"Tell me," he commanded, his hands pinning her wrists to the pillows. "Tell me you don't want Julian. Tell me you don't want your father. Tell me you only want me."

The room felt like it was spinning. Sienna was lost in the dark, her body humming with a need she couldn't control.

The loyalty she had felt for her family was fraying, worn thin by the truth and the sheer, overwhelming power of the man over her.

"I... I only want you," she sobbed.

The moment the words left her lips, the tension in the room snapped. Dante let out a low, guttural sound and pulled the blindfold off.

The dim moonlight hit her eyes, making her squint. Dante was hovering over her, his face a mask of raw, unfiltered emotion.

He didn't look like a conqueror. He looked like a man who was starving and had finally found a piece of bread.

He kissed her then, and it was different. It was desperate. It was almost a plea.

But just as they were about to lose themselves in each other, a muffled thud sounded from the living room. It wasn't the front door. It was closer. Like someone had dropped something heavy in the hallway.

Dante went still. He rolled off her, reaching for the handgun he kept in the nightstand drawer.

"Stay here," he whispered, his voice cold as ice.

"Dante, no!"

He didn't listen. He moved toward the door, silent as a ghost. Sienna scrambled to wrap herself in the silk robe, her heart hammered so hard she thought it might burst.

A second later, a scream echoed through the penthouse.

It wasn't Dante's scream. It was a woman's.

Sienna ran to the door, throwing it open despite Dante's warning. She reached the hallway just in time to see Dante standing over a figure huddled on the floor.

It was a young woman, no older than twenty. She was wearing a maid's uniform, but her face was covered in blood. She was clutching a leather folder to her chest.

"I found it," the girl gasped, looking at Dante with terrified eyes. "I found the second ledger. But they saw me, Mr. Moretti. They're coming."

Dante grabbed the folder, his eyes wide. He looked at Sienna, then at the girl.

"Who saw you?"

"The men in the black masks," the girl whispered. "The ones Silas sent. They're in the building, Dante. They're in the vents."

As the words left her mouth, the lights in the penthouse flickered and died. The entire building went into lockdown, the red emergency lights bathing the hallway in a bloody glow.

The sound of shattering glass erupted from the kitchen.

Dante grabbed Sienna's hand, pulling her back into the bedroom.

"The file," Sienna gasped. "Is that it? The one Julian wanted?"

"It's the one that kills your father, Sienna," Dante said, his voice grim as he checked the magazine of his gun. "And it looks like Silas is willing to burn this whole building down to get it back."

A heavy thud hit the bedroom door. Then another. Someone was trying to kick it in.

Dante looked at her, his eyes intense in the red light. "I can save you, or I can save the file. Choose, Sienna. Right now."

The bedroom door shuddered under another violent kick.

Sienna's heart slammed against her ribs as she stared at Dante, his gun steady in his hand, his eyes locked on hers with an intensity that made her forget how to breathe.

"Choose, Sienna." His voice was deadly calm. "Me or the file. Right now."

She could hear the men in the hallway. They weren't just breaking in anymore. They were destroying everything, tearing the penthouse apart, searching for something. For her. For the ledger.

The file sat on the nightstand, that damned leather folder that could send her father's legacy up in flames. Everything she had left of the Blackwood name was in those pages.

But Dante was standing here, bleeding from a cut above his eye, asking her to trust him.

"You," she whispered.

His eyes widened for a fraction of a second. Surprise. Maybe even shock. But his mask slammed back into place so fast she almost thought she'd imagined it.

"Smart girl." He grabbed her wrist and pulled her toward the far wall. "Move. Now."

"Where are we going? The door is..."

"Forget the door."

He pressed his palm against a section of the mahogany bookshelf. There was a soft click, and the entire unit swung inward like something out of a movie. Behind it was a narrow corridor, dimly lit by emergency lights.

Sienna's jaw dropped. "You have a secret passage in your bedroom?"

"I have enemies, Sienna. Did you think I'd sleep somewhere without an exit strategy?" He shoved her inside. "Go. Straight ahead. Don't stop."

The door behind them exploded inward just as Dante pulled the bookshelf closed. She heard the masked men pouring into the bedroom, shouting in a language she didn't recognize. Russian, maybe. Or something Eastern European.

Dante's hand was firm on her lower back, urging her forward through the narrow space. The walls were concrete, cold and industrial. This wasn't just a panic room. This was a real escape route.

"How far does this go?" she asked, her voice shaking.

"Service elevator. Two floors down. Leads to the parking garage."

They moved fast, their footsteps echoing in the tight corridor. Sienna's bare feet slapped against the cold floor. She was still wearing the silk robe from earlier, and nothing else. The fabric clung to her skin, damp with sweat and fear.

Behind them, she heard muffled crashes. The men were tearing the bedroom apart.

Dante pulled out his phone as they reached a metal door at the end of the passage. The screen glowed in the darkness, showing a grid of security camera feeds.

Sienna looked over his shoulder and her stomach dropped.

The penthouse was a war zone. Furniture overturned. Paintings slashed. Glass everywhere. And the men, at least six of them, all dressed in black tactical gear, moved through the space like professionals. They weren't just thieves. They were trained.

"Oh my God," she breathed.

Dante's jaw clenched. He swiped to another camera. The living room. The kitchen. His office. All destroyed.

Then he swiped to the hallway outside the bedroom.

Maria, the maid who had warned them, was on her knees. One of the masked men had her by the hair, dragging her toward the elevator. She was screaming, her voice raw with terror.

Sienna's hand flew to her mouth. "Dante, we have to help her!"

"We can't."

"What? We can't just leave her!"

He didn't look at her. His eyes stayed locked on the screen as Maria disappeared into the elevator, still screaming. The doors closed, cutting off her cries.

"Collateral damage," Dante said flatly.

Sienna stared at him, horror rising like bile in her throat. "She's a person. She helped us. How can you just..."

"Because if we go back, we die too." He shoved the phone into his pocket and yanked open the metal door. "And I'm not dying tonight."

The service elevator was waiting, just like he said. Small, industrial, with peeling paint and a flickering overhead light. Dante pushed her inside and hit the button for the garage level.

The elevator jerked into motion.

Sienna pressed herself against the wall, trying to process what had just happened. Maria's screams still echoed in her head. The men tearing through Dante's home. The cold, detached look on his face when he said collateral damage.

This was the real Dante Moretti. Not the man who had touched her with surprising gentleness during the seven nights. Not the man who had looked at her like she mattered.

This was the Ice King. The man who survived by being ruthless.

And she had just chosen him over everything else.

The elevator shuddered to a stop. The doors opened onto a concrete parking garage, dim and echoing. Dante stepped out first, gun raised, scanning the space.

"Clear," he muttered. "Marcus should be here by now."

As if on cue, headlights flared at the far end of the garage. A black SUV roared toward them, tires squealing on the polished concrete.

The vehicle skidded to a stop in front of them. The driver's side door opened and a man stepped out. Mid-forties, military build, with a scar running down his neck. He moved like someone who knew how to handle himself.

"Mr. Moretti," the man said. His voice was gravelly, calm. "We need to move. Now."

"Agreed." Dante grabbed Sienna's arm and pulled her toward the SUV. "Marcus, this is Sienna. Sienna, Marcus. My driver and head of security."

Marcus nodded at her once, his expression unreadable. "Ma'am."

Dante yanked open the back door of the SUV.

That's when Sienna saw it.

The body.

It was slumped across the back seat, head tilted at an unnatural angle. A man, dressed in a cheap suit, his eyes still open and staring at nothing. Blood had pooled beneath him, soaking into the leather seats.

His throat had been cut from ear to ear.

Pinned to his chest was a note, the paper already darkening with blood.

Sienna screamed.

Dante caught her before her knees gave out, his arm tight around her waist. She couldn't stop staring at the body. At the face.

It was Silas.

The man who had threatened her at the gala. The man who had blackmailed Julian. The driver who had killed Dante's father and spent fifteen years in prison for it.

Now he was dead in the back of an SUV, with a message stabbed into his chest.

"Don't look," Dante ordered, trying to turn her away.

But she couldn't stop. Her eyes were locked on the note. The handwriting was sharp, almost elegant.

**You're next, Moretti.**

Marcus moved around the vehicle and opened the opposite door. He grabbed Silas by the shoulders and hauled the body out onto the concrete with zero ceremony. It hit the ground with a wet thud.

Sienna gagged.

"Get in," Dante said, his voice hard. He shoved her into the back seat, not giving her time to protest.

She landed on the leather, her hands shaking so badly she couldn't grip anything. The seat was still warm. Still wet with Silas's blood.

Dante slid in beside her and slammed the door. "Drive. Now."

Marcus was already behind the wheel. The SUV peeled out of the garage, tires screaming.

Sienna pressed herself into the corner, as far from the blood as she could get. Her mind was spinning. Silas was dead. Someone had killed him and left him as a warning.

"Who did this?" she managed to choke out.

Dante didn't answer right away. He was staring out the window, his jaw tight, his hand resting on the gun in his lap.

Finally, he spoke. "Someone who wants me to know they're coming."

Marcus glanced at them in the rearview mirror. "Sir, there's more. Silas was found an hour ago in an alley near the Blackwood apartment. Someone delivered him to me. Along with this."

He handed Dante a burner phone.

Dante turned it on. The screen lit up with a single voicemail notification.

He put it on speaker.

The voice that came through was distorted, mechanical, impossible to identify. But the words were crystal clear.

"The girl is the key. Bring her to the Port Authority warehouse at dawn. Alone. Or your entire empire burns."

The message ended.

Silence filled the SUV.

Sienna felt like she couldn't breathe. The girl is the key. They were talking about her. Not the ledger. Not the money.

Her.

"Dante," she whispered. "What does that mean? Why do they want me?"

He turned to look at her, and for the first time since this nightmare started, she saw something in his eyes that terrified her more than anything else.

Fear.

"The ledger isn't just evidence of your father's crimes," he said quietly. "It contains bank routing numbers. Offshore accounts. Five hundred million dollars in syndicate money."

Her blood turned to ice. "What?"

"Whoever controls those accounts controls the entire East Coast underworld." His hand tightened on the gun. "And they think you know how to access them."

"But I don't! I don't know anything about..."

Her phone buzzed.

She pulled it out with shaking hands. A text message from an unknown number. Just a photo.

She opened it.

And her heart stopped.

It was her father. Tied to a chair in what looked like a warehouse. His face was bruised and bloody. His eyes were wide with terror.

Below the photo, a single line of text.

**I'm sorry, sis. They have Dad. If you don't give them what they want, they'll kill him. Julian.**

Sienna stared at the screen, the words blurring as tears filled her eyes.

This wasn't just about Dante's revenge anymore.

This wasn't even about the seven nights she owed him.

This was about survival.

And the monsters hunting them weren't going to stop until everyone she loved was dead.